All In
by onceinabluemoon0013
Summary: Sherlock invites Molly to accompany him on a case in Las Vegas. The trip leads to unexpected consequences for both.
1. Chapter 1

**Several weeks ago, I proposed this story on Tumblr and everyone seemed to be really supportive of the idea. It will be a multi-chapter fic, but I honestly have no idea how long. Most likely, it will be longer than my previous multi-chapter, John's Girl. Since I am heading into winter break, I hope to be able to update quickly, but updates may slow once school starts again. I urge you all to be patient and please follow this story! I'm pretty proud of this chapter and what I have planned for the rest of the story!**

**Note: I imagine this taking place a few months after Sherlock's return and about a month after John and Mary's wedding. Rated T for sexual references and language.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. :(**

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Sometimes, Molly Hooper wondered what horrors she had committed in a past life to warrant her current unhappiness with her life. Sure, she had a job she loved at one of the best hospitals in London. She lived in a modest apartment, comfortably within in her means, with a cat who adored her. And she had quite a few close friends, who she saw on a fairly regular basis. Okay, so maybe she should amend her previous statement.

What horrors had she committed to warrant her current unhappiness with her _romantic_ life? Or lack thereof. She just _had_ to meet Sherlock Holmes on that fateful day seven years ago.

He had stalked into the morgue, demanding to see the body on which she had just completed her first solo autopsy. He had quickly made several deductions about the man's life and death (most of which could also be read in her report, _thank you very much_) and turned to the dazed detective inspector beside him with a smug grin on his beautiful face.

When he had spun abruptly and focused his full gaze on her, Molly was immediately captivated. Completely and utterly. When he waltzed out of the morgue a few minutes later (his only words to her a hurried, "Pleasure working with you, Dr. Hooper. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective"), he had taken her heart with him. Molly realized that he had never had the decency to return it.

The man in question was currently pounding impatiently on her door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was _three o'clock in the bloody morning_. Molly rubbed her eyes as she scrambled out of bed, silently cursing the man. She unchained the lock and put on the fiercest scowl she could manage in her drowsy state of mind before pulling the door open.

Sherlock took no notice of her obvious irritation, breezing past her and into the cheerily-furnished sitting room. He made no move to remove his coat, and, for that, Molly was grateful. _Won't be staying long, then_. She hunched her shoulders, re-closed the door, and followed the man with whom she had so stupidly fallen in love.

Sherlock was pacing the floor in the center of the room. He stopped and turned to her when she sat down on her little sofa, pulling an extra blanket around herself for warmth. He looked her up and down. _Examining me like I'm one of his experiments_, she thought bitterly. Finally, he seemed to register her highly irate expression.

"Sorry to barge in like this, Molly, but –"

"But what, Sherlock?! 'Molly probably has nothing better to do so I think I'll just pop over to her flat for a chat IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!'" He winced at her outburst, eyes widened in shock, and Molly mentally high-fived herself.

She breathed heavily for a moment, glaring at him as she attempted to calm herself. "I was sleeping, Sherlock," she said when her heart finally stopped racing.

"I know, and I apologize. But I require your assistance on a new case," he uttered sheepishly, obviously fearful that she would explode on him again.

"And it can't wait until the morning?"

"Unfortunately, no, it cannot. Our flight leaves in an hour. You will want to pack for at least three days, just in case."

Molly jumped up from her reclining position at that, dropping the blanket on the floor and stepping slowly forward. When she stood right in front of him, she crossed her arms and scrunched her eyes at him. "What do you mean, 'our flight'?" Her voice was misleadingly soft, but her tone betrayed her impending anger. Sherlock shrunk back in panic and quickly tried to explain the situation.

"A former acquaintance contacted me earlier this evening. She has been living in the States under a pseudonym, and a particularly intriguing mystery has caught her interest. Or so she says. She was very secretive about the details. Anyway, she wants me to help her solve it, after which she has promised never to contact me again. I need an assistant, and, as John is currently preoccupied with his wife, you are the next best option."

"Well, gee, thanks," she muttered. She ignored his confused look and squared her shoulders. She should have known the moment she heard him knocking that she would agree to anything he asked of her. She had never been able to resist him or his blasted, perfect cheekbones.

"Fine. Where are we going?"

He rewarded her with a blinding smile, one that, while still rare, was making more appearances since his return from the dead. It still took her breath away.

"Las Vegas."

XXXXX

Molly was woken by a hand roughly shaking her. When they had first boarded the airplane, she had attempted to listen while Sherlock filled her in on what he knew about the case. It wasn't much.

Instead, she drifted off while he droned on about saving the life of a dominatrix in Karachi. She tried to block out his voice as he told her how he had helped the woman fake her death, much like Molly had helped him. She bit down her resentment at the knowledge that Sherlock had done the same thing for this woman that she had done for him.

The last thought that ran through Molly's mind before she fell asleep was that Sherlock clearly cared for this woman, more than he could ever care about a bumbling pathologist with terrible fashion sense. Images of Sherlock and a beautiful, faceless woman, bodies entangled while he professed his love, haunted her dreams.

"Wake up, Molly! We have arrived!" The deep baritone that starred so profoundly in her nightmares caught her attention, and Molly slowly opened her eyes, groaning as the sunlight hit them.

She was surprised to find Sherlock's face a hairs-breadth from hers, his hands still gripping her shoulders. She stared up into brilliant blue orbs and lost herself in his beauty. She thought she heard his breath hitch as they gazed at each other, but shook her head to clear it. Of course, she was imagining things. Probably due to having to sleep uncomfortably on an airplane. Still, their eyes remained locked on each other's, neither of them moving for several moments.

Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be annoyed with him and pulled away, moving around him to stand up. Their bodies brushed for an uncomfortable instant before Sherlock stepped into the aisle and grabbed her wrist tightly.

Sherlock had already removed her bag from the overhead bin and was dragging her towards the exit. Molly hurried to keep up with him but could not stop the excitement from bubbling up within her. She had never been outside of Europe before today, and now here she was, jetting off on an adventure in the United States with Sherlock! She giggled giddily to herself until a look from the detective wiped the grin right off of her face. Molly gulped and followed along, head hanging in shame.

A car was waiting for them in front of the airport, a man (presumably the driver) standing outside. Sherlock quickly placed their luggage onto the back seat while Molly slid into the passenger seat. She smiled again at the oddity of sitting on the right side of the car instead of the left. She watched curiously as Sherlock handed the driver a note and climbed into the seat beside her. She felt apprehension well up in her; could Sherlock even drive?

Apparently he could because he started the ignition and pulled into the heavy line of traffic leaving the airport.

Molly found herself wholly fascinated by the sights of Las Vegas as Sherlock expertly maneuvered the car through the city. She briefly wondered if he had been here before, but bit down the urge to ask him. So far, she had refused to ask him any questions about his time away from London. The troubled gleam in his eyes when he returned told her more than words ever could. She turned her attention back to the wonderful scenes around her instead.

Molly gasped in delight when they reached the most stunning hotel she had ever seen. Sherlock had mentioned they had accommodations at The Venetian Las Vegas, but she was completely unprepared for the image before them. It looked as though they had driven straight into Italy. Molly squealed as she saw the water-filled channels and the gondolas carting around excited tourists. She glanced over to see Sherlock smirking at her obvious pleasure.

He pulled the car into the valet parking area and stepped out of the car. Molly pushed her door open and got out as well. Sherlock had already retrieved their bags and handed the car key to the valet. The detective tipped the young man and gestured to Molly to lead the way into the main lobby.

She stood with the luggage and examined everything around her while Sherlock went to check in at the desk. The male receptionist blushed as Sherlock leaned towards him, and Molly grinned. Sherlock really had no idea of the effect he had on other people. He retrieved the room keys and walked back over to her, looking at her in confusion when he saw her expression. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, hiding her smirk behind her hand. Sherlock stared at her for another minute before shrugging and turning towards the lifts.

"We are on the tenth floor. We will drop our bags in the suite, and then we are meeting my acquaintance at Bouchon for supper." She nodded her head in acknowledgment, and they spent the rest of the trip upstairs in silence. Anticipation filled Molly as she thought about all of the sights she wanted to see. _Sherlock invited you along to help him with a case_, she reminded herself._ You are here for business, not pleasure._

Sherlock did not give her much time to gaze around the suite before he pushed a bundle of dark blue fabric into her hands and told her to change. He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and Molly had to force herself not to stare as she trudged into the en suite bathroom, gasping once again at the luxurious tub.

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Molly was dressed and ready to go downstairs, but she was stalling, staring at herself in the mirror anxiously. Molly was pleased to discover that Sherlock had selected a gorgeous dress. The sleeveless, ocean-blue design hugged her curves until her waist, where it expanded out in waves, stopping just below her knees. She had paired it with a matching pearl earring and necklace set, left to her by her mother. Her hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She had decided to apply only a minimal amount of makeup, but she could admit that she looked pretty.

She could not help but wonder, however, what Sherlock's mysterious lady-friend would prefer to wear. She also doubted if Sherlock would even notice her presence as the woman clearly fascinated him.

She heard Sherlock calling her name and hesitantly opened the door, stepping out so that he could assess her appearance. His gaze raked up and down, his cupid bow mouth hanging open as he examined her. He made a small noise as though about to speak but thought better of it and remained silent. He strode forward, and soon he was looming over her. His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering for a moment on her neck.

She gulped and scrutinized his appearance. He was wearing a suit (_of course_) that seemed tailored perfectly for him. She was surprised to note that his tie was almost the exact shade of her dress. Anyone who observed them would assume they were together.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his face. "You look… adequate, Molly. This should be fine." Disappointment filled the pathologist, and she tried not to show her hurt as she grabbed her purse.

"Let's go, then," she told him, refusing to meet his eyes.

The trip downstairs was also spent in silence, but it was filled with much more tension than previously.

XXXXX

When they entered the restaurant, Sherlock bypassed the hostess stand and marched over to a table where a woman was sitting alone, perusing the menu. Molly's jaw dropped at the woman's appearance.

She was inarguably the most beautiful woman Molly had ever seen. _No wonder Sherlock likes her so much_. Her blood red dress clung to her figure, coming to mid-thigh, and matched the shade of her nails. Molly had thought she looked pretty before in the room, but now she felt wholly inadequate. She did not deserve to sit at the same table as this woman.

The woman glanced up at the sound of their approaching feet, and a devilish smirk bloomed on her flawless red lips as she noticed Sherlock striding over. She held one perfectly-manicured hand out to the detective to grab, but he ignored it and sat down across from her. The woman tsked in displeasure but dropped her hand.

Molly shuffled up to the table uncertainly, and the mystery woman turned her attention to the pathologist instead. If possible, her grin widened even more as she drank in the sight of Molly. Molly was reminded of a predator surveying its prey. She stroked the seat next to her, and Molly took it nervously, now seated between the woman and Sherlock.

"You can call me Yvonne, love. And you are?"

"M-molly Hooper. I performed her post mortem, didn't I?" This last question was directed to Sherlock, who merely nodded. Yvonne clapped her hands together at this news, red nails clacking against each other and eyes crinkling in delight.

"Ooh, I do love intelligence in a woman! Or a man. I am _exceptionally_ flexible, dear. But of course you would be clever! I should have expected nothing less from a pet of Sherlock's." Molly huffed and was about to correct her assumption, but Sherlock spoke first.

"Why did you call me here, Woman? I thought you had a case for me."

"All in good time, Sherlock, dear. First, I want to know more about your little pathologist. She looks simply _ravishing_." Molly shuddered at her tone but was spared from answering by the arrival of their waiter.

Molly looked down at the menu, and her eyes widened at the selections. She did not know too much about American currency, but the prices seemed excessive. She glanced at Sherlock, who squeezed her hand beneath the table. Molly took that to mean to order whatever she wanted and he would cover the bill.

Sherlock and Yvonne both selected items that Molly could barely pronounce, and the waiter turned to her, smiling gently at her worried expression. "I'll have the… ummm… the Poulet Rôti." She stumbled over the words, but the waiter understood her meaning. 'Yvonne' selected a bottle of `wine and winked at the waiter, sliding a finger down his arm. He smiled and walked away to place their order. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at the exchange.

"So, Miss Hooper –" Yvonne began.

"_Doctor_ Hooper," interrupted Sherlock, glaring at Yvonne. She seemed particularly intrigued by his reaction, her immaculately sculpted eyebrows shooting up in interest. "Now, tell me why we are here. What is this case?"

Yvonne threw back her head and laughed. She did not stop until the waiter returned with their wine. He offered to let them taste it first, but she waved him away, pouring liquid into the three glasses herself. She lifted hers to take a sip, but Sherlock stopped her, removing the glass from her grip and setting it back on the table. "Oh very well. I _was_ hoping to eat first." She sighed loudly.

"The funny thing, Mr. Holmes, is that there is no case. I wanted to invite you to have dinner with me. I've been so lonely, Mr. Holmes, and I knew you wouldn't accept if I simply asked you. So, I enticed you with a mystery to compel you to come visit.

But alas, it would seem you desire a different…cuisine, than what I can offer. My invitation still stands, however, if you don't mind sharing. I do love dessert." Her eyes gleamed and her wicked grin returned at the furious look on Sherlock's face. He grabbed Molly's hand under the table again, gripping it hard enough to hurt.

Molly was perplexed. "We're already having dinner…" she stuttered out, concerned about the energy flowing between her companions. She had never felt more like a third wheel than at this moment, imagining herself an antelope caught between battling lions.

"Although I am sure Dr. Hooper is flattered by your interest, we decline your offer."

Yvonne turned to Molly, amusement evident on her face. "Well, _Dr. Hooper_, it seems you are far more fascinating than my original assessment of you indicated. I applaud you." She tipped her head to the pathologist, who was still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Th-thank you, Yvonne. I think…." Yvonne reached over the table and grabbed Molly's face, planting a wet kiss to her mouth. Molly barely had time to understand what had happened before Yvonne was standing up, grabbing her bag.

"Well, since my… services are no longer wanted, I think I will leave you two lovebirds to yourselves." Molly started to interrupt but Yvonne began talking again before she was able.

"It was a pleasure as always to see you, Mr. Holmes. I will keep my earlier promise to you. You will never hear from me again. Dr. Hooper, it is a shame we cannot get to know each other more… intimately. Goodbye." She leaned over and delicately placed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He made no indication that it affected him, but Molly felt his grasp on her stiffen minutely. "Oh! Do enjoy the wine! It really is superb!"

With that final statement, the beautiful woman turned and sauntered out of the restaurant, her hips swaying seductively. Molly admired her ability to walk with such confidence in her stilettos. Molly had elected to wear flats specifically so she did not trip and embarrass herself in front of Sherlock.

At that moment, their food was delivered. Sherlock explained to the baffled man that the other woman had needed to leave, and the waiter swiftly took Yvonne's food away. Sherlock stared down at his plate, and, not for the first time, Molly wondered what he was thinking about. Was he regretting letting the woman go?

Molly picked up her wine glass and chugged the red liquid. She caught Sherlock's eye, and he gazed at her in a way he never had before. Her stomach churned, but more in anticipation than fear.

"Since we don't have to work a case anymore, do you think we could go look around the city a bit? I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas!" Instead of answering, he released her hand and grabbed the bottle of wine. She smiled shyly at him as he refilled her glass.

"Well, you heard the Woman. Let's have a drink while we are eating."

"Then we can go sight-seeing?!" Her enthusiasm brought about his own smile as he looked at her across the table.

"Yes, Molly. Then we can go sight-seeing."

"Thank you, Sherlock!" She kissed his cheek, painfully reminded of the woman who had done the same thing only moments ago. She waved aside her insecurities and clinked her class with his.

XXXXX

The first thing Molly registered when she awoke the next morning was that she was exceptionally warm. She snuggled closer into the pillow, squeezing the blankets closer to her and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

When the blanket around her middle squeezed back, however, her eyes flew open in shock. The blue dress she had worn to dinner the previous evening was lying forgotten on the armchair beside the bed. Molly tried to remember what had happened last night, but everything after dinner was a blur.

She reached up to brush a stray hair off of her cheek, wincing when a tough object scraped against her skin. She looked down to see the sunlight glittering off of a gold band on the second finger of her left hand. She gasped quietly and slowly turned towards her mysterious bed mate.

Her eyes scanned a very fit, very masculine chest, before they rose to meet the icy blue gaze of one Sherlock Holmes, who was fiddling with the matching gold ring on his own left hand. Realization dawned on the pathologist, and one word flew to the front of her mind.

_Fuck_.

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**I also wanted to say that I do not think Irene is prettier than Molly. Both are beautiful actresses in their own rights. That being said, I do think Molly would compare herself to Irene, and this story is going to be largely from her perspective. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! If you see any errors, please let me know so I can fix them! I love every single person who reads my stories!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am so blown away by the response this story has received! I had planned on uploading this chapter tomorrow, but everyone's kind words convinced me to post this today, instead! I want to thank everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! I tried to respond to the reviews I received, and if I did not, thank you so much! I love hearing your thoughts.**

**Just a heads up about this story: the relationship between Molly and Sherlock is not going to develop overnight, so be prepared for slow growth! I hope you stick with me anyway! That being said, here is Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to its creators. _Sigh._**

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_ "Fuck."_

She gasped, and her hand covered her mouth. _Oh. Had she spoken that aloud?_

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up into his dark locks, whether in admiration of her ability to so eloquently sum up their situation or in shock at hearing such crude language fall from her too-small lips, Molly couldn't tell.

Sherlock's gaze drifted downwards from her face, and Molly was suddenly acutely aware that her body was completely bare under the sheets. She pulled away from Sherlock, gripping the blanket tighter around herself.

A small part of her could not really condemn him for his curiosity, however. It was all she could do not to let her eyes linger on the exposed segments of his porcelain skin normally hidden by his clothing.

She glared at him for his indecent behavior, and he at least managed to look ashamed of himself. She turned her head, trying to focus on remembering the night before, and not the naked consulting detective sharing the bed with her. The heat emanating from him in waves sent tingles through her. Apparently, her body recalled the previous evening, even if she could not.

Molly felt rather than heard the rustling of the sheets beside her and looked over to see Sherlock sitting up against the back of the bed. He rubbed his temple with one hand, grimacing, and Molly wondered if his headache was as ghastly as her own.

Hesitantly, the pathologist lifted herself up and settled against the head-board as well, fiddling with a loose thread in the flower-covered duvet. She knew her hands would tremble if she did not keep them occupied.

Both the detective and pathologist remained silent for a long time, the only sounds in the suite their breathing as they inhaled and exhaled, trying to make sense of their predicament. Molly lost herself in her thoughts as she momentarily disregarded the man sitting beside her.

_Maybe this is a prank_, Molly theorized. _Maybe Sherlock and I got monumentally pissed last night and thought it would be humorous to buy ourselves a pair of wedding bands. Yes, that could be it._

Even as the idea crossed her mind, Molly tossed it aside. Vague recollections, of a cheaply furnished chapel and the cloying scent of roses, swirled through her brain, but she could not latch on to any single memory. It was as if they were taunting her, purposely flitting just out of reach and disappearing as soon as she got close enough to grab them.

Molly was pulled from her thoughts by Sherlock's hand on her wrist. If he noticed the way she shivered at the contact, he made no indication of it.

Molly stared at his hand until he hastily removed it, seemingly startled by his own actions. Molly ignored the loss she felt and stared at his face questioningly.

He closed his eyes, hands fisting the duvet as he gathered himself. Molly realized with a start that this was the first time she had ever seen Sherlock Holmes nervous. She remained quiet, intuitively sensing his need for silence.

Sherlock swallowed, and Molly was distracted by the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing sensually with the motion. Molly's eyes zeroed in on the pale expanse of skin there, transfixed by the view of his throat. (She remembered her friend Meena once calling it "utterly kissable.") His usual attire had gifted her with brief glimpses of the area, but seeing Sherlock like this was entirely different. Almost as if she could just reach out and….

Sherlock cleared his throat, and Molly jumped. Her cheeks flushed red as she berated herself. _Focus, Molly! Even if this was an appropriate time for such a thing, he would probably flinch away at your touch. Haven't you suffered enough at the hands of this man?_

Sherlock's mouth held a hint of a smirk, informing Molly that he knew exactly what she had just been thinking. _I guess we're even now, then_.

She forced her eyes up to his face and linked her fingers together. She smiled brightly at him, a vision of complete innocence. He lifted one brow (In appreciation? Disbelief? She had no idea) and took a deep breath. "Molly, I –"

The tinkling of a mobile from a nearby table interrupted him, and he cursed quietly as he heard the familiar melody. Molly recognized it as "God Save the Queen" and snorted when she realized who must be calling. She quietly hummed along as he draped the sheet around himself.

Sherlock graced her with a genuine smile as he slipped out of the bed to retrieve the phone. He picked it up and glanced down at the screen, smile replaced with a glower. "Mycroft?" she asked, chuckling only a little when his expression darkened.

"Obviously."

He hit the answer key a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Brother. How _nice_ of you to phone. I trust England has not declared war in my absence?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice. Molly admired his ability to act calm. Her pulse was throbbing rapidly, her breath coming in short bursts.

The elder Holmes said something that had Sherlock scoffing. "We both understand very well that you know exactly how my evening went. Your subterfuge will not work on me, Mycroft."

Mycroft's retort wiped the smug grin off of the detective's face, and he turned to look uneasily at Molly for a moment. Unease filled her as she watched him march to the bathroom, picking up a change of clothing on the way. He closed the door behind him, and she heard the lock click into place.

Molly took the opportunity to gather her own clothes, dressing quickly before Sherlock returned. When her task was complete, she returned to the bed and waited for him to finish his conversation with his brother.

Although Molly had only met Mycroft Holmes a handful of times, she understood that he acted as more of a father figure to Sherlock than a brother. She had seen the brief look of horror in his eyes when he had arrived at her flat to remove Sherlock after the latter's dive from the rooftop of St. Bart's. She imagined that the picture of his brother covered in dark bruises, blood matting his usually flawless curls, still haunted the government official sometimes. She still woke up occasionally, cold sweat trickling down her neck, when she relived that day in her nightmares.

Molly knew the relationship between the two was strained. (John had once drunkenly confided to her Mycroft's role in Sherlock's downfall.) Still, she envied them in a way that only a child without siblings could. After her father had died, she and her mother had only had each other.

She remembered once, just after her father's passing, when her mother had taken her Christmas shopping. She was trying to be strong for her daughter, but, even at eight years old, Molly was more observant than most. She noticed the way her mother stared longingly at the couples holding hands as they strolled down the pavement. She pretended not to see how her mum's eyes filled with tears at the sight of a little girl clutching lovingly to her father's leg. Molly had simply squeezed her mother's hand and pulled her into the shop.

Young Molly Hooper had been distracted by the glittering tree and let go of her mum's hand. When Molly realized that her mum was nowhere in sight, she panicked, fear gripping her eight-year-old heart in its vicious jaws.

Molly had seen a woman who looked strikingly similar to her mother and had run down the aisle trying to catch her. When her short legs had finally stumbled to the place where Molly had last seen the woman, however, she had disappeared. The little girl had sat down on the ground in despair with moisture glistening on her cheeks.

She stayed in that position, unmindful of the pitying glances bestowed upon her by passing shoppers, until she heard a well-known voice frantically calling her name. Molly had sprung up and rushed toward the voice, hurtling into her mother's waiting arms. Molly had clung to her fiercely as her mum kissed every inch of her face.

"Don't you ever do that again, Molly Elizabeth Hooper!" her mum had cried, tears dripping down her chin as well. "You're all I have left!"

Since that moment, Molly had vowed never to hurt her mother like that again. She had been a diligent student, even if her social life was a bit lacking (_imaginary_). It was worth all of her effort, all the nights spent inside studying instead of partying with her classmates, however, when she saw the pride on her mum's face when she graduated from medical school. Molly had always hated disappointing her mum.

This would kill her. She had done something which would be unforgivable in her mother's eyes. The knowledge that her only daughter, her pride and joy, had foolishly drank too much and married "that wanker who treats you like dirt" (her mum's words) would forever alter her mother's image of her.

Molly groaned and hid her face in the blanket. Well, if her life was officially over, at least she could say she got one night with Sherlock Holmes out of the deal. (_Too bad you can't remember any of it_, her traitorous brain reminded her.) Hysteria bubbled up within her, and she could no longer hold her tears at bay.

XXXXX

After locking the bathroom door, Sherlock brought the phone back to his ear.

"What did you just say?!" he hissed into the speaker, glancing nervously at the door in case Molly was eavesdropping.

"You know how much I hate to repeat myself, Sherlock." Mycroft's nasally voice only amplified the pounding in Sherlock's head. "But very well, if you insist. We were discussing your decision to wed Miss Hooper. _Doctor _Hooper," he corrected before Sherlock could interrupt. "I know how sensitive you can be about ensuring that your pathologist gets the proper recognition for her accomplishments. I merely mentioned how overjoyed Mummy will be to hear you have changed your mind about sentiment in favor of Dr. Hooper's considerable… charms."

"Do not talk nonsense, Mycroft. It was a mistake I believe was instigated by the manipulation of Irene Adler. You should close your mouth, as I am certain your jaw is presently on the floor in shock, while I tell you that, indeed, she is _alive_."

He heard Mycroft coughing on the other end of the line and felt a twinge of success at having bested his brother. _Not feeling so superior now, are we?_

"Even so, _brother_, you were a busy man last night. Molly Hooper-Holmes has been added as a joint account holder to your bank account, and members of your network of _miscreants _were seen moving Dr. Hooper's belongings into 221B. I hear Mrs. Hudson put up quite a fuss at being awoken so early. I must say, I'm impressed with what you managed to achieve so quickly, especially in your state of mind. But did you really think you could keep all of this from Mummy?"

"You told her?! It really is none of your concern, _Mycroft_." Sherlock tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, but Violet Holmes was one of the few people who terrified him. Mycroft knew this.

"Of course not, Sherlock." The detective let out a breath. "You should thank me for intercepting the information before it reached the media. Luckily, my sources tipped me off before your marriage could become public knowledge. Your affairs with Dr. Hooper remain private. For today, at least."

"Unfortunately, it appears that Mummy has her own resources. She called me a few hours ago, fishing for information about your little pathologist. It would seem she is rather enamored with the idea of grandchildren."

Sherlock could practically hear Mycroft's nose wrinkle in distaste but kept his comments to himself. He had gone cold upon hearing of his mother's knowledge. If what Mycroft stated was true (and Sherlock had no reason to presume otherwise), then it was going to be much more difficult to deal with this dilemma than he had first believed. Something about the situation nagged him, as if he was missing a vitally important clue. He knew Irene was involved somehow, but he could not put the puzzle pieces together in his mind. _Yet_.

Sherlock realized he had been silent for an abnormally long time and returned his attention to his brother. "Thank you, Mycroft," he bit out resentfully, hating the self-satisfied grin he knew was adorning his brother's face.

"You are very welcome, Sherlock." The detective wished he could reach through the phone and thump Mycroft right in his pointy nose. He held back his retort, as he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was extremely grateful for Mycroft's meddling, although he would never confess that to the man in question.

"Now, I suggest you speak with your _wife_, as the pair of you has quite a bit to discuss. And Sherlock?" The detective remained silent as he waited for Mycroft to continue. "Do try not to cause any more trouble? I have an urgent meeting with the Chinese Ambassador, and I would hate to be pulled from our conference simply because my little brother refuses to behave."

With that, he ended the call, leaving Sherlock to reflect on their conversation by himself. His arm fell loosely to his side, the phone dangling precariously in his lax grip as he sat on the rim of the tub. He stood up and began dressing himself, mind still reeling.

He heard a faint sniffling sound from the bedroom and hurriedly opened the door, peeking through the doorway toward where he knew Molly was reclining on the bed. The sight of Molly Hooper (Holmes?) curled over, sobbing into the duvet, struck a chord in him. He did not know what possessed him to walk over and gently lay a hand on her shoulder.

Her head shot up as a gasp escaped her mouth. He observed her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lip. He steeled himself against the part of himself that wanted to comfort her, instead focusing on the issue at hand. He needed to figure this out, to solve this mystery, for both of their sakes.

"Sh-sherlock?" she stammered out quietly.

"Molly, after careful consideration, I have come to a decision about our current situation. I believe there is only one way to handle this."

"W-what's th-that, Sherlock?" Hope blossomed anew within her at the determination on his face.

"We will have to stay married, Molly, at least for the time being."

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**Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! I am not offended by criticism, as long as it is constructive. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for your support of this story! I would like to especially thank everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed! I am so happy that everyone is liking this story so much!**

**A lot of you asked if Molly and Sherlock would ever recover their lost memories, and the answer is yes, but not all at once. Hopefully, the end of this chapter will answer some of your questions. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock still doesn't belong to me. I can only take credit for the ideas in my head.**

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"_We will have to stay married, Molly, at least for the time being."_

Molly squeaked, hands flying up to cover her mouth as she once more turned into a mouse in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. Molly blinked several times, unable to believe what Sherlock had said. _Surely, I must be imagining this, right? Sherlock Holmes couldn't possibly want to stay married to _me_._

She rose from her position on the bed, trembling slightly as she set her feet on the floor. Once assured that she would not collapse, she shifted her weight and twisted to stare at the detective. Although the two were only separated by a queen-sized mattress, the distance between them felt infinite.

Finally, Molly gathered enough courage to speak. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. What did you say? I must have misheard you."

"You heard me perfectly, Molly. I believe it would be in both of our best interests to remain husband and wife for the foreseeable future. As we both are aware, you have been infatuated with me for years, so I doubt you will have any major objections, but –"

"Sherlock!" Her outraged cry shut him up immediately, and Molly congratulated herself. _Not so mousy anymore, am I, Sherlock? _"Will you slow down for one bloody minute?! I can't recall anything about last night, and, from the shocked expression on your face when you awoke, I can only assume your memories aren't much clearer. So we woke up with gold bands on our fingers. It might not mean anything!" She was babbling, but Molly could not stop the word vomit from spewing out of her mouth. "How do you know we are even legally married?!"

Sherlock gave her a condescending look that had Molly gritting her teeth. "Please, Molly. Even when under the influence of illegal substances, I still managed to crack open cases that Scotland Yard's finest could not. Do you really think that I would muddle up something as simple as getting married, if for whatever reason I decided to do so?" He walked over to the little desk in the suite and grabbed a white sheet of paper between his dexterous, violinist's fingers.

"Besides, this little slip of parchment verifies quite indisputably that we are officially bound together in matrimony. Congratulations, _Mrs. Holmes_."

Molly ignored the acceleration of her heartbeat at the way the name sounded from his velvety baritone. Instead, she strode over and snatched the document out of his grasp. Sure enough, she held in her hands a marriage certificate, tying Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper together indefinitely. _Well this was bloody fantastic._

She hastily beat into submission the giddy part of herself that wanted to jump around the room and shout from the roof that she had snagged Sherlock Holmes. Really, such behavior would not be appropriate given the circumstances. After that daunting task was complete, she looked back up at the consulting detective.

"W-well, we could just get divorced, then. No one will be any the wiser, and we can just pretend like this never happened!" She hoped her smile and cheery tone were enough to hide her panic, but knew deep down that her hope was for naught. Sherlock had an uncanny knack for sifting through the deceit and dishonesty of even the most practiced liars. Molly didn't stand a chance against his all-seeing gaze.

"Even if it were that simple, Molly, my brother has just informed me that we were exceedingly productive last night. My bank account is under both of our names, and, if I am not mistaken, you may want to phone your land lord. I'm sure he would be absolutely _delighted_ to hear from you."

Molly disregarded his sarcasm and reached into her trouser pocket, fishing out her mobile. Curiosity was eating away at her. _It couldn't hurt to do as he asked. _

XXXXX

Ten minutes later, Molly was livid. "Ungrateful little weasel," she muttered as she hung up on the man, slamming her phone down on the desk. "I was a model tenant for five years, and he just dumps me at the drop of a hat?!" Her mood deteriorated even further when she noticed the smug expression on Sherlock's face.

Evidently, she had phoned her land lord at some point during the previous evening's activities, demanding that he let her out of her lease provided that she paid a hefty termination fee. The money had been transferred from Sherlock's account at once, and, in the few hours since, he had already promised her flat to someone else. No amount of whining or pleading on Molly's part could convince the man to change his mind and take her back. She was officially homeless.

She wished she could slap the smirk off of Sherlock's perfect Cupid's bow mouth. She wished she could grab him by the collar, attach her lips to his, and show him exactly how newlyweds were _supposed_ to act on the morning after they wed. Either way, she needed _something _to distract herself from attacking the bastard.

"Well. As you have already deduced, I no longer have a flat to which to return."

He nodded. "Yes, I presumed as much. Mycroft mentioned that members of my homeless network were relocating your possessions to 221 Baker Street. They began early this morning in London, meaning I must have called them sometime before midnight Las Vegas time. That narrows our window of when everything occurred. You should be nearly moved in by now." Molly shook her head, trying to clear the questions spinning around inside of it.

She glanced up at Sherlock questioningly. "How could you possibly think staying married is the best solution?"

"Logically, this makes the most sense. Although Mycroft has kept our private business out of the media's greedy claws, a quick marriage and divorce would only ignite a frenzy. We can work on resolving this quietly when we return to London, if that is what you desire. Unfortunately, my mother has somehow learnt of our nuptials. I would not be surprised if she has already invited your mother over for tea. I fear they will protest quite vehemently to the termination of our marriage."

Sherlock paused, allowing this to sink in. "I understand you likely need more time to consider our arrangement and viable options, Molly. I suggest we put aside making any future plans for now, and concentrate on the more pressing issue. What happened last night?"

"It's odd," Molly replied, scrunching her eyes in concentration. Everything after dinner is jumbled together, and I can't get a firm grasp on any of it. What about you?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid. Rationally, we both know what we did last night, at least in part, but the how and why are complete mysteries. We need to solve this as soon as possible, Molly."

The pathologist could not stop the smile from blooming on her face. Of course, he would approach a drunken mistake in Las Vegas as a case which needed to be unraveled. When in doubt, rely on logic and reason. That was Sherlock's mantra. She had to admit, however, that he made a valid point. This entire situation was just so completely out of character for both of them.

"I agree, Sherlock, but I can't remember anything. Where do you suggest we start?"

For once, the detective seemed at a loss for words. He sank down on to the foot of the bed, positioning his hands palm to palm, fingertips brushing the underside of his chin. Molly recognized this as his thinking pose. "Obviously, taking blood samples would be the best approach. We need to determine if we were drugged and, if so, identify the substance…."

"Oh, yeah, let me just go get my spare supply of needles and test tubes out of my bag," Molly teased. Sherlock glanced at her briefly, excitement clouding his eyes for a moment, before he waved her off.

"Don't make jokes, Molly. I suppose we could begin at the restaurant, see if they noticed anything amiss. Perhaps we mentioned where we were planning to go next?" He looked up at her, ostensibly seeking her approval of his plan.

Molly didn't have any better ideas, so she remained silent. The two stared at each other for a long time, trying to develop a strategy. Suddenly, both jumped as a piercing chime sounded from the suite's telephone. Because she was closer, Molly hurried over to answer it.

"Hello?" She listened intently to the voice on the other end, holding a finger up to quiet Sherlock when he made to interject. He crossed his arms, pouting in a manner Molly found much more endearing than she should have.

"Yes, we will be down shortly. Thank you." She replaced the receiver, turning to Sherlock who gazed at her inquisitively. Molly took a deep breath. "That was the man at the front desk. The video recording of our wedding is there, ready to be picked up."

She saw her own apprehension reflected in the detective's expression and let him process the information. She could practically feel him buzzing with excitement, yearning to examine this new clue. After a few minutes, he brought his attention back to Molly. Meeting her eyes, he held out a hand. "Shall we?"

XXXXX

Sherlock's fingers remained entwined with Molly's as they descended in the lift. Once the doors opened, revealing the main lobby, he pulled her along with him as he ambled up to the front desk.

Molly recognized the young man as the same receptionist who had given Sherlock their room keys the previous day. Molly found it difficult to believe that they had checked in less than 24 hours ago. The man smiled sweetly up at the detective until Sherlock asked about the wedding video. The young man stood up to retrieve the package, letting out a wistful sigh as he did so, and placed it in front of the older man. Sherlock picked it up and began examining the outside for clues, turning it this way and that with his free arm.

While he was distracted, the receptionist ("Cody", his name plate read) glared irately at Molly, whose hand was still clasped possessively in Sherlock's. She tried to remove it, but Sherlock's hold remained steadfast, refusing to let her go. Cody's frown deepened even more as he witnessed the gesture.

"Well, Molly, I suppose we should return to the suite. See what we can gather from watching this video." He turned his head to look at her, and she nodded in agreement.

Before they could leave, however, the young receptionist spoke. "Oh, sir! Ms. Clark left a message for you!"

"Ms. Clark?" Sherlock gaped at him, not recognizing the name.

"Yes, Ms. Yvonne Clark. She said that she was profusely sorry that she could not say farewell in person, but to give you this note when you and your… lady friend… came downstairs." Molly guiltily felt a smug sense of satisfaction as she watched Cody refuse to say "wife".

Molly leaned into Sherlock's side (perhaps a bit more intimately than the situation called for – they were trying to keep up appearances, right?), reading the message over his shoulder. If Molly suspected that Sherlock's mystery woman had played a role in their mutual memory lapse before, she was now certain of it.

_Mr. Holmes– _

_My apologies for skipping out on you before we could_

_finish dinner. I do hope the wine selection was tolerable for you _

_and your companion. Tell your pretty little doctor friend that I say _

_hello. If only we had had more time to get to know each other. _

_She seemed rather delectable. Goodbye forever, darling. _

_Sincerely, the Woman_

Molly and Sherlock locked eyes for a moment before Sherlock crumpled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket. "Ms. Clark has already checked out, then?"

"Yes, sir. A taxi came to drive her to the airport first thing this morning. I'm sorry, sir, but she didn't say where she was going," he replied in answer to Sherlock's unspoken question.

Sherlock began walking back to the lifts, urging Molly along with him. "Th-thank you!" she yelled back at the young man, who merely glowered at the pair's interwoven hands. _Oh well. At least I tried._

Although she wanted to, she couldn't really fault the young man for his fascination with Sherlock. _How many times has that same expression been present on my own face?_ Cody was still staring longingly at Sherlock as the lift doors closed upon them.

XXXXX

Molly sat down on the soft, cream-colored sofa as Sherlock inserted the disk into the player and started the recording. He sank on to the cushion beside her as they waited.

The chapel itself was modestly decorated, most likely due to the impulsive decision to wed. White pews lined either side of a central aisle, leading up to a small platform. Pink roses adorned the majority of the space, although an exquisite white centerpiece stood in the center of the platform. Vines (most likely fake) wrapped around the structure, giving the chapel more of an outdoorsy atmosphere.

As she took in the setting, Molly breathed a sigh of relief. As far as spur-of-the-moment wedding venues went, this was not as bad as she had imagined. She had once seen a movie where the main couple were married by an Elvis impersonator. She shuddered at the horror. Her mother wouldn't be able to hold _that_ over her head.

The room was empty except for two lone figures towards the front of the chapel. Sitting behind an old, worn-out piano on the left side of the stage, was a ruddy-faced woman bedecked in a vile lilac pantsuit. The matching hat only served to make her look more like a middle-aged cartoon character.

The only other person currently on camera was Sherlock. He stood on the little platform, hands clasped behind his back as he stared into space. He looked much the same as he had at dinner, except his blue tie was loosened and his dark curls were even more unruly than usual. Molly thought she could make out a smudge of pink lipstick on the side of his mouth (the same shade that she had in her bag upstairs), but the video was too grainy for her to be positive.

The memorable opening notes of the wedding march rang out as the pianist began to play. Both the Sherlock on camera and the one beside her straightened to attention. Molly watched with rapt concentration as she made her first appearance on camera. She wore the same dress as the previous evening, the blue fabric clinging to her body as she stepped into the aisle. She carried a bouquet of light pink roses, matching the ones decorating the chapel. She slowly made her way down the aisle towards the waiting consulting detective, who was staring at her in pure adoration.

The other Molly (that is what she had begun to call the on-screen woman, who seemed so removed from the Molly on the sofa) was escorted by an elderly man in a well-worn, black tuxedo, with a rose matching hers pinned to the side of his top hat. He stopped her as they reached the steps leading up to the platform. A beaming Molly Hooper leaned forward and kissed the man on the cheek, earning a shy smile and blush from the adorable old man.

Molly unwound her arm from his and stretched forward to grab Sherlock, who was grinning widely down at her. Their matching smiles were so radiant that Molly had to look away for a moment, blinded by the pure joy caught on camera.

The other Molly dropped her bouquet as she sauntered up the steps, and both she and the other Sherlock burst into a fit of giggles. Their laughter did not cease until the elderly man, who had walked up to the platform in front of the couple, cleared his throat and pulled out a little black book. The music was silenced, as well, and the ceremony commenced.

Molly's mind wandered as the couple on the screen recited the familiar wedding vows. She realized that Sherlock (her Sherlock, _the_ _real Sherlock)_ and she had inched farther apart as the wedding proceeded. Now, they were both practically sitting on top of the opposing arm rests, refusing to look at one another. The irony didn't escape her. As the other Sherlock and Molly drifted closer to each other, the distance between the couple on the sofa widened exponentially.

Molly waited with bated breath for the conclusion of the ceremony. Finally, the elderly man uttered those well-known words ("You may now kiss the bride"), and Molly gasped.

The newlywed couple seemed oblivious to everything but each other as what began as a simple peck transformed into a full-blown snogging session in the front of the chapel. Hands roamed over each other, seeking the bliss of skin to skin contact. Molly's gut tightened when she heard the other Sherlock groan as Molly's hands tangled in his hair and tugged. Both blatantly ignored the other man, who was blushing furiously at the passionate display and trying to regain their attention. Eventually, the poor man gave up and looked directly at the camera. He made a slicing motion against his throat to gesture for the cameraman to stop filming.

The screen cut to black as the couple remained lost in each other's embrace.

Neither Sherlock nor Molly moved for several minutes. Molly stared in shock at the empty screen, twirling a lock of hair around her finger nervously. Finally, Sherlock stood up, gesturing with his hands that he was going out for some fresh air. He slammed the door behind him without speaking a word. Molly certainly understood his speechlessness. She was overwhelmed as well.

As she thought back on the video, however, one thought made itself known over and over, and her mind refused to let her forget about it.

She had never seen Sherlock looking as happy as he did when he was gazing down at her, promising to love and cherish her forever.

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**Please leave a review and tell me what you thought!**


	4. Chapter 4

**What's this? A new chapter?! Happy holidays everyone! Thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Your words give me the encouragement to keep writing! I cannot believe this story has over 100 followers! Thank you so much! I will try not to let you down!**

**I had hoped to have this chapter posted last night, but the editing process took longer than I expected. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. A part of me really likes it, but the other part fears that Sherlock is horribly out of character. I don't know. I will let you all be the final judge!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock.**

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Molly viewed the entire wedding video a total of five times after Sherlock dashed out of the suite, etching the images into her memory.

She told herself she was being foolish. Even in her mentally-exhausted state of mind, she could recognize the certainty of that. She thought that she had moved away from mooning over the detective, happily lapping up whatever scraps of affection he spared for her.

Obviously, she was not as content with their relationship as she had led herself to believe. _ At least he isn't here to see me like this,_ she reasoned. _And who knows when _(if)_ he will ever look at me with that level of longing again?_

So, she continued to play the video, rewinding and re-watching the snog more times than she cared to acknowledge. He certainly appeared to understand the finer techniques involved in kissing. The other Molly definitely was not complaining, if the way she kept pressing herself closer to him was any indication.

She tried to ignore the surge of jealousy that coursed through her veins at the idea that 'Yvonne' had given him a few private lessons.

A growing pressure in her lower abdomen reminded Molly that she had neglected her usual morning routine in the light of all that had happened last night (or hadn't happened – who really knew at this point?). She clicked off the television and dragged herself to the loo.

The pathologist relieved herself, washed her hands and grabbed her glasses. Unfortunately, she had not been mindful enough to remove her contact lenses before she and Sherlock had retired to bed. She blinked several times to bring some moisture back to her eyeballs.

It was not until she began brushing her teeth, however, that Molly managed to really scrutinize her reflection in the mirror. She groaned as she saw the frazzled woman staring back at her.

Her hair, which she had so meticulously styled the previous evening, had been pulled back hastily. A few light brown tresses had fallen out of her ponytail and now hung limply around her face.

Molly praised herself for her decision to forgo most of her makeup, as she was certain it would be smeared all over. As it was, the only remaining trace was a blotch of lipstick on her lower lip, the rest having presumably rubbed off during her and Sherlock's… activities.

Dark bags were visible beneath her eyes, bloodshot from a combination of exhaustion and her contacts. Her gaze travelled downwards and focused on one particular spot. Was that…?!

Molly nearly spit toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror as she noticed a dark bruise noticeably marring her slender neck. Heat flooded through her body as she imagined scenarios that could have caused a mark like that. She winced as she delicately pressed on it but could not hold back her small smirk of satisfaction.

Deciding that her teeth were as clean as they were going to get today, Molly emptied her mouth into the sink and rinsed with tap water a few times.

After she deemed herself fairly presentable, Molly returned to the bedroom, as she could no longer ignore the grumbling of her stomach. Massaging it to alleviate some of her hunger, Molly perused through the provided In-Suite Dining Menu, which was placed prominently beside the telephone. Molly dialled the specified number and gave her selection to the woman who answered. She informed her that her meal should be delivered in no more than thirty minutes. Molly thanked her and hung up.

Now alone with only her thoughts to occupy her, Molly paced in front of the sofa as she waited for her food to arrive. She knew, of course, that Sherlock would react poorly to the video of their wedding. He was a man of deduction and logic. How, then, would he respond to proof of himself giving in to sentiment and passion, two emotions he had so vehemently denied he was capable of feeling? And in front of two strangers, no less!

Molly dreaded his return. He would be even crueller than usual, if only to counteract what he had professed under the influence of whatever drug Sherlock's female acquaintance had dosed them with.

A small part of Molly (the part not too busy detesting the gorgeous woman) admired Yvonne for her ability to best Sherlock Holmes, not once, but multiple times.

A persistent pounding on the door sounded, and Molly hurried over, abandoning that traitorous train of thought. She really was starving. As she pulled on the knob, however, it was a curly-haired consulting detective that greeted her, not the cheery room service attendant that she had been expecting.

"I left my key," was the only explanation he offered, and Molly twisted her fingers together in nervous anticipation as he brushed past her.

Sherlock walked halfway across the room before pivoting abruptly to watch as she closed the door. _Never know whose inquisitive ears could be listening_.

Molly took a moment to really observe him and was startled to discover that he looked just as awful as (if not worse than) she had. The same bloodshot eyes and dark shadows could be seen on his face as well, although he also had a scratch running from his left eyebrow down to his cheek. _How had that happened? _The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his lean neck and throat. Molly bit her lip to hide the grin that formed when she noticed a bruise prominently displayed there that matched her own.

After her assessment of his appearance was complete, Molly brought her gaze back up to meet Sherlock's. She debated whether to ask him where he had disappeared to for over two hours but decided against it. He was unlikely to tell her even if she voiced the question. Instead, she stared at him, willing him to speak.

"Molly, as I'm quite certain you are aware, we need to talk." Succinct and to-the-point, Molly found herself grateful for his straightforwardness. She did not possess the patience to deal with anything else. She followed his lead and uttered exactly what was on her mind.

"I just want you to know, Sherlock, that I won't hold you to anything you said or did last night. I realize we were both under the influence of… _something_, probably given to us by your 'friend.' I don't know the history between the two of you or how… intimately," Molly gulped out the word, "you are acquainted with each other, but I do recall you identifying her by… not her face." Molly let out a small sigh before squaring her shoulders.

"That being said, however, _I do not blame you for what happened._ I know you didn't mean any of it, so I won't force you to keep up pretences."

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows together, unsure of how to proceed. Molly was only slightly ashamed of how proud of herself she was. She had brought the great Sherlock Holmes to speechlessness more times in the past day than she had in the entirety of their acquaintance.

Looking at the detective, though, she desperately wanted to offer some form of comfort (whether by a gentle hand on his arm or a warm embrace, she did not know), but recognized that it would be ill received at the moment. Saving him from his discomfort, she continued on instead.

"You would not have even _considered_ marrying me unless you weren't in your right mind. Hell, I wouldn't have married you either. This," she gestured back and forth between them, "is likely to be a complete disaster." She spoke with confidence, even though her heart broke as the truth of her words sunk in.

When she dared look at Sherlock, however, she could not easily discern the expression on his beautiful, but weary, face. Confusion, certainly, but his bewilderment was underlain with another emotion, one that seemed oddly like… hurt.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his reply was cut short by a knock coming from the door. "Room service!" a young, masculine voice called out.

Molly shot Sherlock an apologetic look, holding up one finger to urge him to wait, while she scurried over to answer the door. A smiling young man with red hair stood on the other side, with a cart carrying what Molly identified as her lunch. She stepped aside to let him enter, and he swiftly pushed the cart into the suite.

Molly's stomach churned uncomfortably as the aroma of her grilled chicken sandwich wafted through the air. She fought down a wave of nausea and gave the young man a strained smile as she hunted in her purse for a tip.

She glanced briefly at Sherlock as she handed the boy the money. He was glaring intensely at the server, silently demanding that he take his leave as quickly as possible.

The young man's gaze drifted uneasily between the two occupants for a minute, sensing the tension between the couple. He politely expressed his thanks to Molly and requested that she call if she required any further assistance. He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, suspicion clouding his expression, before exiting the room as promptly as he had entered it.

Molly stared down at her meal for some time before pushing it aside. She certainly could not eat anything now, not while she and Sherlock were in the middle of such an important discussion.

She turned back to her companion, who was once again pacing furiously around the suite.

Without warning, he twisted and plopped down on the sofa, his long fingers pressing together, subconsciously falling into place beneath his chin. She half-expected him to close his eyes and withdraw into his mind palace, but his attention remained focused exclusively on her. Molly supposed this might be worse than when he ignored her.

"What did you mean?"

"W-what?" she asked in confusion. Sherlock tended to forget that not all minds travelled from point to point as rapidly as his did.

"You implied that you would not have married me unless you were manipulated in some way. I thought… you would be pleased to learn that you had become my wife. A mistaken assumption, apparently."

Molly recalled the way Sherlock pouted for days if a person he cared about didn't recognize his brilliance or praise him for a particularly ingenious deduction. The detective worked best when he had an adoring audience for which to perform. This was much the same, she realized. His insecurity, normally hidden behind brutal observations and haughty arrogance, was peeking through. She would need to tread very carefully.

"W-well, I j-just…. I just meant that… I would never have married _anyone_ under these circumstances. I've always liked the idea of marrying someone after a long engagement." _I've always liked the idea of marrying someone who loves me back._ "We've never even been on a proper date, Sherlock."

"Ah. So you do not protest to being my wife, only to the circumstances of how that came to be?" She nodded, giving him a warm smile that did not reach her eyes. "I see. Interesting…"

Sherlock's voice drifted off as he puzzled over this latest information. He muttered to himself periodically, gesticulating wildly with his arms as if conversing with a being only he could see. Molly looked around the room anxiously, trying not to stare at him. She felt as though he was making choices about their future together without consulting her first.

"I am sorry." He interrupted her internal rambling, his voice quiet and hesitant in a way she had only heard on one other occasion. Strangely enough, he had been apologizing then as well.

"For what?" She reviewed everything he had done or spoken since he had returned to the room, but nothing in particular came to mind. Unless he was referring to….

"I am sorry that the Woman included you in her petty revenge scheme against me. You should never have been involved in this. I apologize for asking you to accompany me, and for bringing you here, Molly. John was unavailable, and I…."

In that instant, Molly saw Sherlock for who he truly was instead of the façade he wore for everyone else. He was a lonely man who craved companionship, much the same as he was when they were first introduced. She had recognized his loneliness then, as it mirrored her own.

She wondered if he had any friends growing up, or if his peers had ostracized him for his uncanny abilities instead. _Most likely the latter_. She had not seen that lost look in his eyes since John Watson had come into their lives.

Sherlock's time away from London after his fall from St. Bart's, as well as John's subsequent marriage to the delightful Mary Morstan, had affected the detective more deeply than she realized. Sympathy for this broken man struck Molly's heart, and she understood what she needed to do before consciously making the decision to do so.

She walked over until she was standing over him. "This is not your fault, Sherlock. I came willingly, remember? Well, kind of…." They both chuckled, remembering her frustration and anger with him when he had barged into her flat, insisting that she help him.

"What I mean is, at least we are not alone in this. The situation is not ideal, certainly, but we can figure this out. You are the world's only consulting detective, after all. If anyone can solve this, it's you." She considered stopping there, afraid to scare him off with further sentiment, but forged ahead nonetheless.

"I'd like to think we are friends, as well. If I had to impulsively wed anyone, I'm glad it was to someone that I trust more than anybody else."

Molly stepped back, bumping into the little table behind her and nearly falling over it. _Really graceful, Molly,_ she chided herself.

A snicker escaped Sherlock's mouth, and Molly's jaw dropped open in surprise. Soon, she was doubled over as well, laughing over their ridiculous predicament.

"Do you still believe what you declared earlier?" she questioned, once their amusement had died down to only an occasional giggle.

"Believe what, Molly? My deductive powers are top-rate, but even I cannot read minds."

"That… you and I should... remain... married."

Their eyes locked as he considered his answer. "I…. Yes, Molly, it seems to be the most logical solution, as I explained earlier. Do you require additional clarification?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary, Sherlock." Molly heard what he left out of his explanations, what he could not articulate. Sherlock wanted (_needed_)someone to talk at and carry out experiments with. Someone to tell him when he was being an arse and accompany him to crime scenes. Someone to replace John Watson.

Molly knew that she could never fill the void left in Sherlock's life by the absence of the ex-army doctor. But because she was Molly, and because she loved the bastard who was now unwittingly her husband, she decided to try her best. It might destroy her, living with Sherlock and seeing him every day, knowing that he would never be truly hers. Once again, Molly Hooper would be selfless for Sherlock Holmes. She would sacrifice her own happiness to provide him with the support he desired. She never could tell him no.

Molly walked towards Sherlock, tentatively taking the seat beside him. Her hands were folded in her lap as she gathered herself. This was undoubtedly the most significant moment of her life thus far, and she did not want to muck it up. She intended to find the perfect words to convey her decision.

"Okay," she said, finally. _Well, there goes that plan, then. Great work, Molly!_

"Okay?" he replied, hope barely evident in his tone. Molly fleetingly wondered whether any person besides herself and Mycroft would have perceived it.

"Okay." She smiled at him, reaching over to cover his hand with one of her own. "Let's stay married, for now."

Sherlock's body rotated slightly to the left so that it was now curved towards hers. He removed his hand from hers, raising it to her face. She could feel it graze her cheekbone when a ping reverberated throughout the suite, the sound magnified in the stillness of the room. Sherlock jerked back, as if suddenly noticing his body's objective. His hand dropped to his side as he lifted himself from his reclining position and pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket.

He quickly read the new text message before raising his head to meet her gaze.

"Mycroft has chartered a plane to return us to London, but we do not need to leave until later this evening. Is there anywhere you wish to visit before we go?"

"Don't we still need to investigate? I thought you wanted to solve the case of our missing memories?"

"Did you think I was sight-seeing while I was out?"

Molly felt unbelievably stupid. Of course he had been collecting data regarding their plight.

"I believe I have acquired all of the information I can from the bumbling idiots we encountered last night. I have enlisted Mycroft's help in locating Irene. Yvonne," he clarified at her befuddled expression. "We need not worry about that for the time being. Any suggestions on where we should spend our last hours in Las Vegas?"

Molly abandoned her curiosity for now, focusing instead on her mental list of intriguing Las Vegas destinations. "Well... I did read that they have a replica of the Eiffel Tower. I'd like to see how it compares to the real one! We could treat it like an experiment of sorts! If you want to, that is."

Sherlock nodded his assent. "You should eat before we go." He gestured to her lunch, sitting forgotten on the room service cart.

Molly stood up and strode over to her food. Now that their discussion was over, their decision made (_God help me_), she could devour her sandwich and fruit cup. She picked up the tray and brought it with her to the sofa. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation, positioning the napkin carefully over her lap.

Sherlock watched her with a small grin on his face. "I will begin assembling our belongings, Molly. Enjoy your meal."

As she tucked into the delicious chicken sandwich, she heard Sherlock moving around the bedroom, collecting the items scattered all around the suite.

_Who knows? Maybe this will turn out better than I imagined._

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**Poor Molly. :( What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Think I should quit writing altogether and run off to the circus? (Please don't tell me that last one. I have no hidden talents and would fail miserably as a circus performer.) Please leave a review and let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Another update! Yay! I promise I will try to get the next chapter posted sooner!**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! It was nice to know that you all liked it! I tried to respond to all of your reviews, but, to the guests who I could not, I sincerely appreciate your comments! Thank you also to everyone who is following or has favorited this story! I am blown away by your support!**

**This chapter is shorter than the others, simply because it was getting longer than I expected. The good news is that I have some of the next chapter already written, so you shouldn't have to wait as long! **

**On another note, I began this story before Series 3 came out, so none of the events in Sherlock Series 3 will come into play here (I don't think). I may make allusions to some of Sherlock and Molly's moments, however. For instance, in this chapter ;)**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Sherlock. If I did, Sherlock would have danced with Molly at the wedding.**

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Once Molly had finished eating, Sherlock promptly ushered her out of the suite, their bags deposited in a pile just inside the door. When Molly made to reach for hers, however, he brushed her arm aside, one hand on the small of her back to push her through the doorway.

"Sherlock, what about –"

He waved his hand dismissively as he slammed the door behind them. "One of Mycroft's minions will see to them, I'm sure. They will be loaded on the plane while we are out."

His hand remained where it was, burning her skin through the thin material of her shirt and sending tingles up her spine. She twitched nervously as they waited for the lifts, trying to focus on something (_anything_) else besides that electrified point of contact between his body and hers. A ding sounded just before the doors opened, and the couple stepped inside.

Molly sighed in relief when he finally released her. He hit the button to return them to the main lobby with more force than was probably necessary. Molly stood awkwardly against the back wall, refusing to look at Sherlock (_her husband!_).

Molly saw Sherlock look at her quizzically in her peripheral vision, but, if he noticed her discomfort at his proximity, he made no mention of it. The couple stood in uncomfortable silence as the lift descended, both lost in their own thoughts.

When the doors finally opened to the main lobby, Molly scrambled out, anxious to put as much space between Sherlock and herself as possible without arousing suspicion. If the narrowing of Sherlock's eyes was anything to go by, though, he had indeed observed her irregular behaviour and was attempting to deduce its origin.

Molly smiled sheepishly at him but mentally berated herself as they made their way outside.

She and Sherlock had just come to an understanding (of sorts), and here she was, mucking everything up again. _Really, Molly, you are a grown woman, not some lovesick teenager who freaks just because the love of your life is touching you!_ (She refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of her mind whispering that Sherlock had touched her much more intimately than that last night.)

Molly gulped and balled her hands into fists, praying to whatever higher deity would listen that Sherlock had not seen her reaction to his touch. The next several weeks (_Months? Years? How long was he planning to keep up this charade exactly? Until someone more interesting came along?_) would be difficult enough without Molly frightening him off by revealing her true feelings. Even if he did already know how she felt about him.

Electing to walk down the Las Vegas Strip instead of driving to the Paris Las Vegas, Sherlock and Molly set out side by side, although Molly was careful to keep a safe distance away. She could not afford another close encounter like the previous one.

Molly excitedly drank in all the sights as they strolled down the street, squealing in delight at the beautiful scenery. The city was so alive. Sure, London was a beautiful city with lots of attractions to see and enjoy, but Las Vegas seemed almost unreal. All of the lights and sounds, happily appreciated by thousands of tourists from all over the world, drew her in. Molly thought that she had identified at least four languages being spoken in the five minutes they had walked.

Abruptly, Molly stopped in front of a gorgeous hotel and casino, earning her a glare from a frumpy blonde woman who had barely managed to manoeuvre around Molly.

Molly, however, didn't spare her another thought as she grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him towards the beckoning building.

"Oh! I read about this! It's called the Mirage, and I have a feeling you are going to like this, Sherlock!"

Sherlock scoffed, face dripping with scepticism. "Molly, I highly doubt…." He drifted off, however, as they entered the lobby. There, situated behind the front desk, was a giant saltwater aquarium.

Molly smiled to herself as Sherlock let go of her hand and stepped forward, mesmerized by the glorious tank. Bright lights illuminated the sea of bright colours and tropical aquatic life. Sherlock wandered off, body humming with the thrill of scientific investigation. She recognized his body language as the same he had when confronted with a particularly intriguing case.

The image of a young Sherlock, excitedly performing scientific experiments by himself, came unbidden to Molly's mind, and she had to choke down the pity that filled her.

Molly watched Sherlock for another moment before she, too, went to explore.

She was standing alone, admiring the view and attempting to identify a certain species of fish, when a movement to her right drew her attention. She turned her head slightly to see a young man, several years younger than her, with short, blonde hair. He wore dark jeans and a crimson button-up shirt. He was cute in a "your mum wouldn't approve" sort-of-way. He caught Molly's eye and grinned at her. Molly smiled back politely and returned her attention to the aquarium.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she asked him courteously, pointing to the tank.

"Beautiful," he replied in a deep, American accent, although Molly could not help comparing his voice to a certain consulting detective's. (Sherlock's baritone was _much_ deeper. And sent shivers through her entire being.)

She looked over at him from the corner of her eye, surprised to discover he was still staring at her. "I was talking about the aquarium."

"I know." He held her gaze. "I wasn't."

Molly ducked her head, a blush creeping up her neck as she giggled nervously. This man was certainly charming. There was no doubt about that.

"I'm Sam." He reached out to grab her hand, placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Molly tried not to be flattered by his attentions. "And you are?"

"M-molly," she stuttered out. _Why am I incapable of having a normal conversation today without stumbling over my words?_

"Interesting accent, _Molly_." Her name rolled off his tongue silkily, and he was eyeing her like a predator circling its intended target. "Where are you from?"

"London," she replied tersely. She did not want this stranger to mistake their casual conversation for romantic interest. Her love life was screwed up enough at the moment without adding another factor into the equation.

"Oh, I've always wanted to go there! I'm from California, myself. San Francisco. You ever been?" Clearly, he was not comprehending her subtle hints. She would have to be more obvious.

"No, I haven't. Listen, I really must –" She looked around desperately for Sherlock, but the detective had disappeared. He always showed up at the most inopportune moments (_like when my shift is just ending_, she thought bitterly), but now when she really needed him….

"Do you want to get a drink with me? I know we've only just met, but I can feel the connection between us. There's this really good place not far from here." Sam still held her hand loosely in his grip, which tightened when Molly attempted to pull away. Alarm bells began going off in Molly's brain. _Where is Sherlock?!_

"I can't. I'm sorry." She hoped her voice relayed her apology, not the fear rushing through her veins.

"Why not? One drink won't kill you, will it? Come on. It'll be fun. I promise."

"Look, I'm flattered, really, but my –"

"Her husband would not appreciate his _wife _going out with another man. Surely, you can understand _that_, even if it appears you do not understand the word _no._" Sherlock stepped into the fray, easily removing her hand from Sam's. He clenched Sam's wrist so firmly that even Molly cringed.

"I-I…" Sam began, but was cut off as Sherlock narrowed his eyes, quickly deducing the man before him. His eyes travelled over the shorter man, noticing everything about him within seconds.

"University student, I see, currently in your fifth- no, _sixth_- year, with no graduation date in sight. You have been living off of your parents' money, but they recently disowned you when they realized what you were wasting it on. You and a friend travelled to Las Vegas, hoping to make some quick money so that you could pay your drug dealer and continue the partying lifestyle to which you have become accustomed. _That_ plan has failed miserably. _Obviously_."

Sam gulped, but Sherlock was far from finished. Molly's eyes were glued to the detective. He really was spectacular to watch when he was deducing. Especially when his powers were focused on anyone other than herself. A small smile appeared on her face as she watched Sherlock in action. She always loved this part.

"When the two of you failed to win at the gambling tables, you decided to turn to other, more _illicit_ methods of acquiring money. Tell me, did you intend to take Molly's money at right away, or had you planned on sleeping with her first and running off with all of her belongings in the middle of the night?"

Molly gasped and finally turned her attention back to Sam, who was desperately trying to remove himself from Sherlock's grasp and looking anywhere but at the consulting detective. Sensing the futility of his actions, Sam's arm went limp as he stopped struggling. He shrugged.

Sherlock dropped Sam's wrist in disgust, fixing an icy glare on the quivering man.

Sherlock draped his left arm around Molly's shoulders, pulling her into his body possessively. Sam's eyes lingered on the glint of gold visible on Sherlock's hand before putting his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Sorry, man. I didn't realize she was taken."

"Yes, because _that _is what you should apologize for." Sherlock could not keep the disdain out of his voice as he rolled his eyes. "Come on, Molly. We shouldn't waste anymore of our time on this _cretin_. We need to hurry if we want to visit the Eiffel Tower before we have to leave."

Molly nodded, and the couple was stepping away when Sam opened his mouth once more.

"Molly! If you ever get tired of this asshole, I could show you a good time. Think about it, huh?" He leered at her, and bile rose up in Molly's throat. _The nerve of this idiot! Had he learned absolutely nothing?_

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, however, Sam was on the floor, a furious consulting detective on top of him. Sherlock clamped his hands around the younger man's neck. Sam, blood trickling from his noticeably broken nose, was clawing at Sherlock, to no avail. The detective was out for blood, it seemed.

The scene had attracted the interest of several curious onlookers, none of which seemed inclined to stop the ongoing attack.

Seeing the murder in Sherlock's gaze, however, Molly decided it was time to step in. No matter how much she thought Sam deserved Sherlock's outrage, it was decidedly indecent to kill a man in the middle of a hotel lobby.

"Sherlock!" Molly cried, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, stop!" He looked up at her, reason returning to him as he saw her worried face. He removed his hands and stood up.

"He's not worth it. Let's just go, Sherlock," she said softly, glancing uneasily at the security guards who had rushed over during the assault.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smoothed down his wrinkled clothing. His arm returned to its place around her shoulders, and hers wrapped around his waist. They turned their backs on the trembling and terrified Sam, who was breathing heavily, eyes wide as he wiped his bloody nose with one hand. Molly didn't spare him another glance as they walked out the doors, security following them until they had left.

They pulled away from each other almost immediately, but Molly grabbed Sherlock's hand before he could get too far way. He tilted his head to the side as she pulled him into a quiet alcove between two buildings, away from prying eyes.

"Sherlock…."

"Yes, Molly?"

"Thank you. For coming to my rescue back there, I mean."

"Well, I couldn't very well let him _rob you_, Molly, now could I?"

"No, I know, it's just…. I appreciate it. Even though I know you don't care about me like _that_, I –"

"You believe I do not care about you?"

"No, that's not what I…." _Why does he always twist my words around?_ "I just meant that it must have been difficult for you, acting like the jealous, protective husband. I know that we're friends and that I count. Maybe not as much as John or Mrs. Hudson, but –"

"Molly." He stopped, cupping her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. When he confirmed that he had her full attention, he continued. "Moriarty made a mistake, assuming you didn't matter to me. For that, I am eternally grateful. I would not have survived without your help. You are the woman who saved me."

"That being said, however, I would have died for you, too, Molly Hooper. Please don't underestimate your importance to me."

Molly read the truth of his confession in his blue-green orbs and couldn't stop the smile from lighting up her face. She wiped a single tear that was dripping down her cheek and squared her shoulders, trying to pull herself together.

This was the most honest and emotional she had ever seen Sherlock, except for when he had asked for her help in faking his death. She wondered how many people had seen this side of him, as she quite liked it. Of course, she loved all the facets of his personality. There was something special, however, about this exposed and vulnerable version of Sherlock Holmes that melted her heart towards him even more.

_Maybe he doesn't love me, but at least I know he holds some affection for me. That is enough for now. It has to be._

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Molly gazed up at this beautiful man. "Well, then. Now that _that's_ settled. Should we be off? The Eiffel Tower awaits."

He simply nodded his acquiescence, and the pair walked back to the crowded street.

It was not until they were nearly halfway to their destination that Molly realized she was still holding Sherlock's hand.

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